Exposure (25 page)

In the falling dusk, time seemed to drift away. It wasn’t hard to peel back the layers of years and see the land as it once had been, and after the eventual and inevitable demise of mankind, how it would be again. It was beautiful in a harsh, uncompromising way.

Helene rolled down the window and felt the last heat of the day lose its savage intensity. By the time they reached Arrowhead Springs, night had fallen. Charlie cut the engine and in the vacuum of silence, Helene heard a sobbing, wailing howl.

“Good God! What was that?” she said, eyes trying to penetrate the gloom. “It sounds like the Hound of the Baskervilles.”

He must have been smiling because she could see his teeth, very white in the darkness.

“Just a coyote. Nothing to worry about. Although I think they might have mountain lions in this area.”

Helene couldn’t tell whether or not he was joking. She hoped he was; it certainly suited his style of humour. And then she wondered if he’d got a gun. He clearly had the knack of acquiring one wherever he went, not that it would be that hard in America: home of gun-lovin’ culture. On the other hand, handguns were definitely harder to buy than rifles – and she was sure he wasn’t carrying a rifle. She hoped he did have a gun; and then she hoped he didn’t. She never again wanted to see that icy expression on his face when he was preparing to shoot Bill: she never wanted to see it again.

Climbing the scree above Elder View was harder work than even Helene had imagined. For every step she made upwards, she seemed to slide down two. No matter how hard she tried to dig in her toes like Charlie showed her, she made little progress. Even scrabbling with her hands and lurching upwards, like some fatally wounded goat, didn’t help progress much.

In the end she sank to the ground, her breath coming in harsh gasps, all attempt at a silent, stealthy ascent fallen to the dust.

“This is hopeless,” she said, hacking noisily. “I’m never going to make it up there. We’ll still be at it come dawn. You’d better go on without me.”

“I never leave a man behind,” said Charlie calmly. “You’re doing fine.” He wasn’t even out of breath, damn him. “Even so, I think it would be faster if we roped ourselves together and I help you out a bit.”

“Thank God for that!” said Helene, who had no pride left.

In the end Charlie had to practically drag her to the top of the escarpment like a bag of old laundry, or just an old bag. If he found her hard going, if he found her slowness an unbearable irritation, he didn’t show it. She was a journalist on the slippery slope to fifty: not an ex-marine of thirty. Some things you just can’t fix.

Once at the top, when she was able to breathe without gasping, Helene was able to look down the valley to the small community of Arrowhead Springs below. The famous spa hotel was lit up like Christmas and she could see cars moving along the road in the distance, their red tail lights glowing like tiny devils. She was reminded of the mountain demons on Kompira-san, the gargoyle faces leering out at her.

“Are you okay to move?” said Charlie.

“Yup. Fit as a flea,” she wheezed.

“Just imagine you’re walking through thick snow when we make the descent,” he said. “Keep your toes up, bend your knees and try not to lean back. I’ll be holding on to you so you won’t be able to pick up too much speed. Ready to try?”

Helene nodded, but before she launched herself down the escarpment, Charlie reached up towards her. For a second she thought he was going to stroke her hair, and a tremor ran through her, but instead he turned off the lamp on her head torch.

“No need to announce our arrival,” he said.

Helene tried to follow his advice and keep her centre of gravity as low as possible. It was hard work on the knees and thigh muscles and soon the lactic acid was burning; she was afraid she’d get a cramp if she didn’t rest soon.

When the slope seemed to ease off at last, at the moment when she couldn’t have gone on, Helene allowed herself to slither into a sitting position and catch her breath. She could feel perspiration all over her body, rapidly cooling her in the night air. She was grateful once again for Charlie’s forethought in providing her with the fleece. He was a useful guy to have around, however she looked at it. She shook away the poisonous memory of the website’s message. Of course she could trust him: she wouldn’t have got this far without him – she’d probably be languishing in some rendition centre, dressed in an unflattering orange jumpsuit, vainly trying to prove that she knew less than nothing.

A small river of shale dribbled past her and Charlie gracefully slid to a halt at her side. His eyes glittered in the moonlight and Helene couldn’t help thinking that he was enjoying himself. This was what he was good at: he’d said so himself.

They descended the last 200 yards in complete silence and then crept along the alley that serviced the back yards of Elder View. When they got to Barbara Manfred’s house, Charlie stopped so suddenly that Helene nearly blundered into him.

“Problem?” she whispered.

He nodded.

“Yah. See that blue light blinking under the bush?”

Helene nodded dumbly.

“It’s a laser trip wire,” he said, “badly hidden. Pretty amateurish but even so…”

“Can you get round it?” whispered Helene.

He smiled, his voice condescending.

“Of course! Just give me five minutes.”

He slid into the darkness and Helene was left alone.

Five minutes when you’re waiting for an exam or for your driving test passes in a flash; five minutes when you’re waiting for a bus is an irritation; five minutes waiting to hear if your loved one has survived surgery is a lifetime.

Helene didn’t know how long she crouched alone in the darkness but it felt like forever.

Suddenly she noticed the blue light disappear, and then just as suddenly, reappear. Maybe he hadn’t managed to disable it after all. Maybe they’d have to climb back up the escarpment empty handed and then what?

When Charlie reappeared by her side, looming out of the night, Helene nearly yelped.

“What are we going to do now?” she said, gulping away her fear.

He grinned.

“Go straight in. I’ve looped the alarm around a by-pass rather than disable it. If I turn it off they’ll know there’s a problem. It’s okay, you can go ahead: knock on her door. I’ll be right behind you.”

Helene swallowed, then stood up. She felt very vulnerable, utterly exposed in the moonlight, walking towards Brenda Manfred’s back door: at every second she expected sirens and alarms to wake the living dead.

But nothing happened, unless she wanted to count tripping over a loose paving stone and nearly going arse over tit.

Pushing herself to her knees, she wiped her filthy hands on her equally filthy jeans, then tapped timidly on the backdoor.

There was no reply. She knocked a little louder, painfully aware of how easily sound travels at night.

“Barbara,” she whispered hoarsely, “it’s Helene La Borde. I came by this afternoon. No-one knows we’re here: we just need to talk to you. Five minutes of your time, please.”

She heard the familiar shuffling sound that told her Barbara Manfred was behind the door listening.

“Look,” said Helene, “we know that your dad stumbled onto some important information: information that was sensitive enough to get him kidnapped. We’re trying to work out what’s been going on – and we’ve been out to Warm Creek Nursing Home: we know that poor soul isn’t your father. But we can’t go any further unless you help us.”

The shuffling sounded nearer.

“Go away,” said a scared voice. “I can’t talk to you: they’ll know if I talk to you. The house is probably bugged.”

Charlie crept up behind Helene and whispered in her ear.

“Tell her the garden’s clean: tell her we’ve disabled the alarm system and she can come out and talk to us and no-one will know.”

Helene relayed the information and waited, holding her breath.

“How… how do I know I can trust you?” said the voice with a quaver.

“I can’t prove anything to you,” said Helene, “but we could be your only chance to help both you and your father… and that poor man at Warm Creek Nursing Home. I can’t make you trust me – but I hope you will. I’m a journalist and I’m going to do my best to get this known to the widest possible audience because, I admit, that’s the safest thing for me to do now, I’m in so deep. I promise that I’ll do my best to help you: that’s all I can promise.”

They waited, the silence stretching painfully.

At last they heard the sound of the door being unbolted and a scared face peered around the door.

“Hello, Barbara,” said Helene. “This is my friend Charlie who has been helping me – and I’m Helene.”

The woman took another step towards them, twisting her hands nervously in her hair, eyes darting from side to side. She was in her late twenties, unhealthily pale as if her skin never saw the sun, bitter lines cut in grooves around her mouth, and a greasy complexion that showed poor attention to basic nutrition. A wreck of a young life. Fear seemed to leak from every pore.

“I can’t come outside,” whispered the girl. “They make me wear a tag.” She pulled up the leg of her tracksuit trousers to show a thick bracelet of dark plastic – an electronic tag. “They know if I go out: they watch me all the time.”

Helene’s pity for the young woman intensified.

“You’ll be okay here on the doorstep,” said Helene kindly.

“W-what do you want?” Barbara whispered, looking around her nervously, as if expecting NSA agents to leap out at her.

What did they want? That was the six-million dollar question.

“Did your father tell you,” said Helene, “what he’d found out about the link between the Wall Street Crash in 1929 and the US debt at the end of the First World War?”

Barbara’s slight frame trembled, whether from fear or cold, Helene couldn’t tell. Probably both. She shook her head wordlessly.

Helene tried to reboot her brain and think of another approach.

“Did he tell you anything about the Gene Genies? Did you ever meet them?”

Barbara shook her head again.

“No, he said it was safer for me if I didn’t know anything. He got that wrong, didn’t he?” she said, the bitterness plain in her voice.

Helene felt desperately sorry for her, to have her young life stolen like this.

“I’m sure your dad thought he was doing the best he could to protect you,” said Helene, knowing it made no difference at all.

Barbara shrugged.

“Is there anything you can tell us about the Gene Genies?” continued Helene gently.

“Mmm, not really,” muttered the girl. “But I met one of them once. He called himself ‘Hank Howlin’ Wolf’. It used to make dad laugh because he said the guy couldn’t play the guitar for nuts.”

At last they were making progress. The girl was beginning to trust them. Either that or she hadn’t talked to anyone in a very long time.

“Did you ever know Hank’s real name?” he said.

Barbara looked at him for the first time. Her defensive posture seemed to soften slightly.

“Dad said he was called Hank Wolford, but it could have been a made up name: it sounds like a made up name, don’t you think?”

She almost smiled.

“There’s a man in Britain called Bamber Gascoigne,” said Charlie, smiling back, “and that’s his real name!”

Barbara giggled.

“Fancy that!”

“Do you know where we could find Howling Hank?” said Helene.

“Um, I don’t know where he lives,” said Barbara, still directing her answer to Charlie, “but dad said he used to like to play at the Hog’s Breath Inn on one of their open mike nights. That’s over by Carmel,” she added helpfully.

A memory was triggered and Helene felt a flicker of hope.

“Your dad’s house was in Carmel, wasn’t it? Do you know what happened to it?” she said.

Barbara’s face turned to misery again.

“I dunno,” she said. “I think they pulled it apart when they searched it. They took everything that was inside anyway.”

“Can you give us the address?” said Helene.

“Sure,” said Barbara, “but you won’t find anything there. It’s a bit north of Del Cievro Road, in the woods near Macomber Drive. It’s kinda hard to find if you don’t have a map. I could draw you one,” she offered shyly.

“That would be great, Barbara, thanks,” said Helene. It would be useful to check it against Bill’s sketch.

Barbara disappeared back inside and returned a minute later with a hastily drawn map on a piece of paper torn from a notebook. The girl’s handwriting was poignantly childish. She handed it to Charlie who pocketed it with a smile.

“One last thing,” said Helene. “Did your dad ever give you a secret codeword – something the Gene Genies used amongst themselves? Something so that Hank would know to trust us?”

Barbara looked from Helene to Charlie.

“Is she serious?”

“Well, yes,” said Helene, feeling rather foolish. She decided to persist, however odd it sounded. “I mean, if we manage to track Hank down, how will he know that we are who we say we are? How will we get him to talk to us?”

“I dunno, maybe…” said Barbara. “There is one thing though: I didn’t think about it at the time but it struck me as kinda strange after…”

“Yes?” said Helene, aware she was grasping at straws.

“Well, the last time I saw dad before he… before he disappeared… he drove down from Carmel. He didn’t seem any different so I wasn’t worried. He stayed at the Wigwam Motel – you know it? Uh huh? Well, he didn’t like staying here with me cuz he said it reminded him of when mom was alive. Anyway, we went out for dinner and he started talking about how mom always liked history. And after Adolf Hitler, she thought the most evil man in history was Matthew Hopkins.”

Helene had no idea where this conversation was going and from the look on Charlie’s face, neither did he.

“I thought you’d know,” said Barbara, sounding disappointed, as she searched their faces and finding no recognition, “you being British and all. Matthew Hopkins was the Witchfinder General: he was responsible for the deaths of hundreds and hundreds of women. He used this old book called ‘Hammer of the Witches’, ‘Malleus Maleficarum’ in Latin, to justify himself. I wondered after if dad told me that as a sort of secret code between us. I mean, why bring it up then? Why did he come over like that: we usually just skyped each other. But the NSA or whoever would never ask about my mom’s hobbies. I mean, she’s been dead these fifteen years, right?”